A Stick of My Own

I take joy from my dog
running on ahead in search
of his gold – a stick to
take home. Once it is found,

he wonders why we linger
in the forest. I don’t worry
him by saying it is because I
am old and can no longer

keep up. No, I tell him I’m
looking for my own stick.
And always, he slows knowing
the importance of such a thing
as this.